


Always Perfect

by kishiriaz



Category: Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Hair Brushing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 20:41:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kishiriaz/pseuds/kishiriaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is based on this painting by NeilDy:http://neildy.deviantart.com/art/Sanguinius-and-Fulgrim-412356060</p>
    </blockquote>





	Always Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on this painting by NeilDy:http://neildy.deviantart.com/art/Sanguinius-and-Fulgrim-412356060

It wasn’t common for the Blood Angels and Emperor’s Children to fight side-by-side, but that had been what had happened. A recently compliant planet had been attacked by Eldar, and the Red Tear and Pride of the Emperor had been the closest.  
At some point during the battle, Fulgrim fell wounded while Sanguinius kept fighting, joyfully raining death from above on their foes. After that, there were reports to sign and time for much-needed rest. When Sanguinius went to bed, the news was that Fulgrim was in “fair condition” and “expected to make a full recovery”.  
Sanguinius did consider that “fair condition” meant something else to Fulgrim than it did to just about anyone else in the fleet. He wasn’t at all surprised when Fulgrim called him to come to the Pride of the Emperor.  
He sighed. This was probably going to be a long, dramatic night. Still, Fulgrim was his friend and brother primarch, so he was willing to put up with whatever theatrics Fulgrim came up with.  
Fulgrim was in one of his lounges, stretched out on a divan. He was dressed in a light, silky-looking purple robe that draped over one shoulder, but the expression on his face made it clear that seduction was the last thing on his mind. He looked drawn and unhealthily pale, his eyes red and puffy. Sanguinius pulled over a padded footstool and sat beside him.  
“Brother, how badly are you hurt?” Sanguinius asked.  
“It’s bad enough,” Fulgrim sobbed. “Burns. Fabius is afraid they’re going to scar.”  
“I don’t see—“  
“They’re under my robe,” Fulgrim explained, and without further ado, tossed the fabric off his shoulder. His chest and abdomen were mostly covered with sheets of gauze, taped to the unharmed skin. The visible wounds were red and raw.  
“Oh, you poor thing,” Sanguinius said.  
Fulgrim started to weep. “I don’t want them to scar. I don’t want to be flawed. What would…what will Ferrus think?”  
Sanguinius took Fulgrim’s hand. “Fabius Bile doesn’t know everything. Let me call for something off my ship.”  
He stepped over to the vox unit and made a request in Secundan. When Sanguinius returned, he sat on the edge of the divan with Fulgrim. “I’m calling for some medical plants from Baal Secundus. I keep them in my quarters and use them myself. They’ll help. You’ll see.”  
Within the hour, a Blood Angels serf appeared, carrying a pot with a large, flat-limbed plant. Sanguinius thanked him and brought the plant to Fulgrim’s side. Once they were alone again, Sanguinius removed his outer robe, revealing a sleeveless scarlet shift below. He fetched some fresh dressings from Fulgrim’s immensely-stocked bathroom and lay them out with a knife he’d also been brought. Sanguinius knelt and touched his right hand to the left side of his chest, then touched several leaves of the plant in the Secundan gesture of blessing he’d never given up, and cut them off. He split them lengthwise and began to dab the gel-like substance inside onto Fulgrim’s chest.  
Fulgrim gritted his teeth and pulled off the gauze. It stuck to the weeping wounds and Sanguinius had nothing but sympathy at the sight of Fulgrim’s tears. Once all the bandages were off, Sanguinius kept placing the gel on the wounds, keeping his touches as light as he could.  
“It feels better already,” Fulgrim said.  
“The leaves have both anaesthetic and healing properties,” Sanguinius said, still concentrating on the task. “Your beauty will be restored, brother.”  
Once Fulgrim’s injuries were coated in plant gel, Sanguinius changed his bandages. From both the treatment and the loving attention, Fulgrim was starting to look happier and more relaxed.  
“Is that better?” Sanguinius asked.  
“Better.”  
“Is there anything else I can do?”  
Fulgrim gingerly slid off the couch and took a place at Sanguinius’s feet. “San, will you play with my hair?”  
Sanguinius reached out and let Fulgrim’s hair slide over his hands like water. Fulgrim had the softest hair he’d ever felt, and he’d always marveled at it. It was silver, and cool, and smelled like the subtle perfume of spring rain. It was no hardship for Sanguinius to run his fingers through Fulgrim’s hair again and again, not when it felt so pleasant or smelled so good, and when Fulgrim clearly enjoyed it so much.  
“I’ll brush it too, if you like.”  
“Brushes are in the bathroom.”  
Fulgrim had a veritable arms rack of brushes. Sanguinius selected one with soft bristles and resumed his seat on the couch. As he started to pull the brush across Fulgrim’s hair, he felt Fulgrim’s left hand taking hold of the bottom feathers of his wing. Sanguinius decided not to say anything. Fulgrim’s grip was loose and unlikely to pull anything out.  
Brushing Fulgrim’s hair felt unnecessary, quite frankly. It was straight and untangled no matter what. But it made his wounded brother happy, and for Sanguinius that was enough. Fulgrim had gone from being teary and in pain to being visibly content.  
Sanguinius took a good long time brushing Fulgrim’s hair and massaging his scalp, moving down to his shoulders and continuing along his arms. He was massaging Fulgrim’s right hand when Fulgrim said, “You know, I think I might be able to sleep.”  
“I’ll tuck you in.” Sanguinius helped Fulgrim to his feet and walked his now-relaxed brother to the bedroom. This was apparently the one he used when he was by himself; the bed was large but the curtains around it were a greyish mauve and there was no other furniture but a nightstand with a lamp on it. Sanguinius pulled down the covers and settled Fulgrim into it.  
“Stay with me?” Fulgrim asked.  
Sanguinius kissed his forehead. “I need pillows for my wings.”  
“Linen closet is at the end of the hall. Help yourself.”  
Sanguinius did. He returned with a heaping armful of pillows of various sizes, turned off the light, and arranged them to his liking. Once settled in, Fulgrim spooned back against Sanguinius, careful not to put any weight on his chest and sides.  
“Thanks for coming when I called,” Fulgrim said.  
“What are brothers for?”  
“Wielding the sword of the Emperor against the xenos, the heretic, and the mutant.”  
“I mean, besides that.”  
Fulgrim twisted around with difficulty and a small grunt of pain to kiss Sanguinius on the lips. “Goodnight, you silly feathered person.”  
“Goodnight, you rotten spoiled brat.” Sanguinius stroked Fulgrim’s cheek as the silver-haired primarch fell asleep. “And don’t worry. Ferrus will always think you’re perfect.”


End file.
